The World of The Gunny

The Wasted World of Gunnery Sergeant DeShane
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 Post subject: The Heist
PostPosted: 15 May 2008 21:11 
Warrant Officer 1
Warrant Officer 1
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Joined: 25 Aug 2005 09:47
Posts: 909
Location: Maumee, Ohio
He twirled the cigarette lightly between his fingers, making it dance while he found his lighter. He lit up and let out a long stream of smoke, the sinuous stream slowly climbing into the pale autumn sky. With his back to the brick wall behind him and the cigarette in his hand, he was the very picture of relaxation, or so it seemed. Any illusion that this man was solely what he appeared to be vanished with even the briefest glance at his face. Above the perfect white teeth of his perpetual grin, his icy blue eyes burned with a scorching intensity. He hailed his companions as they stepped out of their car. “Well, you ready?”

The driver, a burly man in his mid-thirties grunted. “Hung up in traffic.” The other three smiled and greeted the waiting man. “You starting today,” The driver asked, unloading large duffels from the trunk.

The smoking man’s grin took on a predatory cast as he answered. “You know it.” He moved to the pair of glass double-doors, holding them open for his companions before following them in. They had all worked together for years now, and knew exactly what to do. Any instructions he gave would be so redundant as to be insulting. Casually picking up speed as he strode the marble floors, he waited as his comrades reached their designated spots. As soon as everyone was in place, he made his move.

From the waist of his pants, tucked under his shirt, he produced a Desert Eagle pistol, and fired a single shot into the air. As expected, a chorus of screams followed the brief dead silence after the report. He sighed. They never made this any easier. His compatriots were already bellowing instructions, adding to the din. He fired another shot into the air, which successfully quieted the panicked patrons and employees. His winning smile back in place, he surveyed the crowd.

“Get on the floor. NOW! You,” he ordered, waving his gun at the tellers behind the counter, “come around, and don’t even think about touching an alarm.” The tellers exchanged frightened glances, and then obeyed. “Time, Bill?” he asked one of his accomplices, the driver.

“Should be, uh, six minutes or so,” the big man answered.

“Okay,” the smoker announced, addressing the tellers, “if you were smart enough to leave the alarm alone, we’ve got six minutes to get ready. If the cops get here sooner, we’ll have to show you why that was stupid.”

“John,” the sole female among the thieves said, speaking to the smoker, “doors are shut.”

“Good, stay there, let me know when the cops show up.”

“Got it,” she answered, trotting back to the doors, now secured with heavy chains.

“Okay people, this is how it’s going to work. This place has three floors, so you’re going to follow these nice people upstairs. Don’t do anything stupid, unless you want New York’s finest explaining to your next of kin that you wanted to be a hero.” The hostages moved compliantly, leaving the main floor to John and Kate.
Those weren’t their real names, of course. In preparation for this job, they had dyed their hair, most were wearing colored contacts, one had a temporary tattoo that was plainly visible, another had a fake scar on his cheek, the list went on. After this was over, the descriptions the captives would give the police would be less than useless.

Strolling over to Kate, John said, “I don’t think I like this…the blond hair. I never really liked the blond hair/blue eyes combination.”
She laughed, “And they say I’m the picky one. For as much whining as you do about the costume, you love the performance.”

“I just miss the old days, when we could be ourselves,” he explained. A blue and white police cruiser screeched to a halt outside. “Ah! Showtime!” As a pair of uniformed officers stepped out, John checked his watch. “Eight minutes. None of them hit the alarm. Someone must have heard the shots.”

As the police officers approached the door, murky shadows behind the leaded glass, John strode towards the entrance himself. When the first cop moved to open the door, John pulled it open a couple inches, as far as the chain would allow, and poked his gun through. The intrepid officer of the law found himself staring down the barrel of John’s pistol. The officer’s eyes bugged and the robber had a hard time stifling his laugh. “Ah, gentlemen, good of you to come, but I’m afraid I can’t let you in. And I would venture that the poor fellows we’ve got locked upstairs would be in quite a bind if you tried pressing the matter. Best leave well enough alone, eh?”

Practically giggling, he let the door fall shut behind him.
Walking back to Kate, he asked, “Just like St. Louis, huh?”

“Better,” she replied. “Don’t you have to go help Ben?”

He sighed. She was right. Picking up one of the duffels, he started up the stairs to join the others.

“John,” she called. As he turned to face her, she said, “You’re not going to be too hard on them, are you?”

“I must be cruel only to be kind; thus bad begins and worse is left behind.”

She smiled. “You’re such a smartass.”

Grinning back, he replied, “It’s the same as always. They follow the rules, they leave here with nothing more than a great story to tell. They don’t,” he added, waggling his pistol, “they leave a few ounces heavier and significantly more cooperative.”

He bounded up the stairs and found his crew and their charges exactly where he expected, in the bank manager’s office. The curtains were drawn over the windows and the lights were out, lending the room a somewhat surreal indoor twilight mood. The hostages huddled on the far side of the room, about twenty of them. Nearer to the door was a trio of robbers, the rest of the crew. John handed one of them the duffel, “I’ll be down in a second, get set up.” The man nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

With a glance at the hostages, John asked no one in particular, “You get their phones?”

“Yup,” one of the men answered, the driver. “No one’s calling anyone. Cops get here?”

“Yeah, eight minutes.”

“Damn,” the other robber said, Adam, said speaking for the first time. “I was really hoping I would get to ventilate someone.”
Choosing to ignore the comment, John continued. “I’m going to go down and help Ben with the vault. You need anything, use the radio. And Bill,” he added, lowering his voice, “keep an eye on Adam. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Bill nodded. “Got it.”

Before leaving, John crossed the room, the hostages parting silently to allow him to pass. He moved the curtain aside to look down at the street as three more police cars pulled up to the building. He turned back to face his compatriots. “We don’t have long before the ESU get here. Contact me when their negotiator calls. As for you,” he said, turning to address the hostages, “be good or be dead are your options. Any of you get in our way, I’ll kill you myself.” Turning back to his partners in crime, “I’m headed down to make sure Ben doesn’t accidentally blow us all to hell. Hold down the fort.”

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